


Something Special

by CooperCooperGo



Series: Imagine ClintCoulson Prompt Fills [1]
Category: Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 17:03:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9831734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CooperCooperGo/pseuds/CooperCooperGo
Summary: When one of Fury's top spooks handed you something on a rooftop in the middle of the night you took a second to wonder what was going on. Even if it was only a paper bag.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Application prompt: Imagine ClintCoulson. #Imagine Character A preparing something special for Character B

"Here," the man in the suit said. He held out a small paper bag, neatly folded along the top. The man gave the bag a little jiggle when Clint hesitated to take it. Clint had been with SHIELD for eight months, only just past his probationary period, but he had seen some shit go down here that made his mercenary days look like a nap in the shade. He didn’t recognize the man in the suit’s name—Coulson?—but it was easy enough to read the clearance level on his badge in the glare of the helipad’s spotlights. When one of Fury’s top spooks handed you something on a rooftop in the middle of the night you took a second to wonder what was going on. Even if it was a paper bag.

A cold wind gusted across the roof. It swirled in bursts in advance of the thunderstorm Clint could seen coming in from the north, the lights of Manhattan glimmering in the turbulent air, backlit by lightning-shot clouds. The wind picked up the man’s tie and flipped it over his shoulder. Clint watched him glance up at the running lights of the incoming helicopter, eyes half-shut against the first scattered drops of rain; luminous against the cold glare of the spotlights. He looked back down at Clint. Patient. His outstretched arm steady against the fitful wind.

Clint took the bag cautiously. It was a child’s school lunch bag. It had his name written on it in tidy cursive, ’Clint.’ It looked fragile and ridiculous in Clint’s big hands: blunt-fingered, scars criss-crossing the knuckles, his fingers knobby and thick in places where they’d been broken and reset.

"Is this something for… is this for the mission?" Clint had to raise his voice a little to be heard over the incoming ‘copter.

The man in the suit smiled. It was a half smile, if that, more of a quirk of the lips really. Clint studied his face, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. If this were a test. If he was in danger. In Clint’s experience, no one ever just gave you anything.

He opened the bag; caught a whiff of peanut butter before the wind whipped it away. There was a sandwich inside. And a packet of Tim Tams. He liked Tim Tams. And an apple.

His baffled expression must have amused the man. Clint looked up and caught the quirk of his lips again, a subtle tic that would have been easy to miss, if you didn’t have Clint’s near perfect eyesight.

The chopping whine of the helicopter was loud behind them, coming in to land. "You didn’t have time for breakfast," the man in the suit said. He shrugged. Like it was his job to know that. To care.

"Have a good flight, Agent Barton," Coulson added. I’ll see you when you get back."


End file.
